Cycle Repeated
by 13EvansNoodle
Summary: "Stop!" Viserys yelled; command resonating in his voice. The girl paused, turned, and lowered the scarf covering her face. He gasped. It wasn't possible, he'd thought her dead, murdered by the lions with the rest of his kin. His voice, when it came, was almost a broken whisper, "Rhaenys?" AU; Viserys/Rhaenys.
1. Ghosts of Family Past

**K, I'm not into the whole Targaryen-incest thing normally, but this pairing was just a wild thought and hey, it's another universe, so I figured what the hell. **

Chapter 1: Ghosts of Family Past

She kept her head down low as she navigated her way through the bustling market of Pentos, trying to avoid notice, and make her way quietly through the streets. It seemed like so much of her life had been spent moving secretly from place to place, did she truly have anywhere that she could call home? She knew that she did, and her heart longed for it. Across the Narrow Sea, a castle now occupied by Stags, _that_ was her home. It didn't matter that she had forgotten many details of the place, it was hers by right of birth and blood, and she would reclaim it one day.

_She had been almost asleep, Balerion cuddled up close to her, when she heard footsteps entering her room. Before she could make a sound however, a hand clapped over her mouth, and the familiar face of Lord Varys looked down at her. He made a silencing motion, and she nodded, clutching her kitten tight as he tried to squirm away._

"_Princess, you must come with me," he whispered softly; beckoning another young girl into the room, a young girl who reminded Rhaenys strangely of herself._

"_But father said we were to remain here," she protested; not moving, "Where are we going?"_

"_Away, for your safety," he replied; eyes darting furiously around the room, high on alert for danger, "The city is lost, but that doesn't mean you have to be as well. When the time is right, you will return, with your brother, and take back what is rightfully yours."_

_Rhaenys wasn't sure about all of that, but Lord Varys had seemed more agitated than she'd ever seen him before. Quietly, still clutching her kitten, Rhaenys got out of bed, and the other girl slipped into her place, pulling up the others and turning the other way. Another man stood by the door, holding a bundle gently in his arms, was that her little brother?_

"_What about father? And mother?" she questioned._

"_Your father is dead, I'm sorry to say it so bluntly, but you will have time enough to mourn once we are away," Varys draped a cloak around her small shoulders._

_It was not a cold night, but Rhaenys shivered, and clutched Balerion so tightly the kitten let out a pitiful meow. But as animals could, he must have sensed something, for he stopped struggling, and turned to nuzzle closer to her. She barely felt his soft black head. Her father couldn't be dead, he was Prince Rhaegar, he couldn't die. _

_Screwing her eyes shut tightly, she willed this to all be a dream, she was just having a nightmare. In reality, she was still lying in her bed, and her father was winning the war. In just a few days, he would sweep into the palace, victorious. He would swing her up on his shoulders and call her his little Princess. _

_She pinched herself hard, then opened her eyes. The scene hadn't changed. She still stood in her bedroom, Varys before her, and a cold dread spreading through her heart._

"_Dead? How?"_

"_Slain at the Trident by Robert Baratheon, the man who now marches for this very city to claim the remaining lives in yours family. We must make haste," Varys repeated his earlier words, his tone even more desperate._

"_Are we going to the Dragonstone with grandmother and uncle?" she inquired._

_She'd wanted to go with them, but father hadn't allowed it. She missed them, grandmother had always been kind to her, and Viserys too, most of the time. _

"_I'm afraid we must flee further than that for you to be safe, Princess," he said grimly, "The fate of Westeros now depends on you and your brother."_

It had been the most terrifying moment of her life, while many other details might now be lost to her memory, the mad flight from Kings Landing was not. Her mother had been asleep at the time, unaware that while her lids were closed, the baby in the cradle beside her was being replaced with another child. Rhaenys didn't remember the girl who had slipped into her own bed, but she felt a stab of guilt whenever she thought about her, but not half so many stabs as what the little girl had allegedly suffered.

Further afar was right. That night, a boat had set sail from the capitol, and all she could remember of her last glimpse of Westeros, was fire. Fire and the smell of blood thickening the air. Fire and blood. Her home and family had been lost to her by their own motto, and she would see justice done in the same way. And eye for an eye.

"They will all die," she muttered furiously to herself.

Some people passing by heard her, and turned to look curiously. Biting her tongue, Rhaenys quickened her step. It was so easy to let her anger get the better of her, so easy to let the fury she suppressed wash over her. How long had this rage rested in her bones? It was her first feeling when she awoke in the mornings, and her last when she rested at night.

'When a Targaryen is born, the people flip a coin to see whether it will become great, or mad.'

A saying that had long been said over her family's rein, a saying that had often crossed her mind when she felt that anger rear its head. On which side had her coin landed on?

"Excuse me, my lady, can I help you?"

The man looked like a beggar, no doubt hoping for a coin or two, not that she had any to spare, and she walked past him quickly without a reply. Him calling her a lady made her start though, she had deliberately chosen clothing that would help her blend in with the rest of the common people. Simple spun linen, plain brown in colour, and a plain shawl that she could wrap around her head if need be.

She thanked the gods that she had been born with her mother's colouring. While as a child she had longed for the silver hair and light eyes that the rest of her family possessed, her dark hair and even darker eyes were now a blessing to her that helped her remain in hiding. Of course, she could have dyed her hair like her brother, but even that didn't do all that much to disguise him if people knew what they were looking for, which was why he remained behind in Volantis.

Still, she couldn't be too careful. Only a few months ago, when she had been on Lys to see about gathering allies for her brother, someone had recognised her face.

"_Lass, you look a might like the old wife of Prince Rhaegar, the Dornish girl, Elia Martell."_

"_I'm sorry, ser, you must be mistaken."_

That experience had taught her the value of hiding her face, which was why she kept a shawl or head-scarf on her at all times, and wore her dark hair down so that the long waves could obscure her if need be. She had been to all of the Free Cities now, and thought that Aegon would have a fair number of followers to add to his Gold Company, but she had left Pentos until last. She still thought that this particular city was a bad idea. It was too close with Westeros, even though Lys might be closer, trading ties with Pentos had always been slightly stronger, and many Westrosi were known to flee here if they needed to run from the country.

Turning a corner into a less crowded street, she passed before the open gates of an elegant manse. She turned her head to cast a look inside, and a silver-gold glint caught her eye. Sucking in a breath she cursed, coming to Pentos _had_ been a bad idea.

**/*0*/**

"You're sure he'll agree to it?" Viserys questioned.

He was walking through the grounds of Illyrio's manse with the Magister, and had probably asked the question more times than was seemly at this point. Still, it was a great weight on his mind. He _needed_ that army, he _needed_ this Khal Drogo's Dothraki horsemen.

"We can only know for sure when we receive and answer from the Khal, but yes, I do think it likely," Illyrio replied; giving a very similar answer to the many he had already delivered, "Your sister is an exotic beauty to the Dothraki, and Khal Drogo is known to have a taste for the rare."

Rare was right. Danearys was the last female Targaryen, and he the last male. It was a heavy burden, being the last of your line, a burden that had filled his heart with fiery rage from his youngest days. He'd thought of marrying Dany himself, at first, in the ways of their family. But doing that would not have gained him an army, and in truth, his sister only possessed physical beauty. She was no dragon on the inside, she possessed no dragon's fire.

"When will he send his reply?" Viserys inquired, "It's been days already, and still no word. What assurance do I have that he won't take his horsemen and ride off tomorrow?"

"You don't," Illyrio admitted, "But I don't think that the Khal will do such a thing, you will just have to trust that he is simply thinking over your offer."

"I shouldn't have to wait on these savages," he muttered, "Has he no idea who I am! I am the rightful King of Westeros!"

"Patience, your grace," Illyrio urged, "We can only wait and see how events will turn out."

Viserys made a noncommittal grunt, a ferocious scowl etching his forehead. Illyrio, wisely, kept his silence. He had learnt by now that when Viserys got himself worked up, reason would not be agreeable to his ears, and silence was often the best course, until the Prince's anger dissipated.

As the pair of them turned into the courtyard, Viserys wasn't sure why, but his head turned towards the gates of the manse. Usually they stood closed, to keep out unwanted visitors, but today they gaped open as traders came in with wars Illyrio had bought, and he could see out into the street. It wasn't crowded, at least, not overly considering the bustling nature of Pentos. Despite that, his eyes were almost immediately drawn to a single figure who stood, paused, and looking in. With long dark hair and in a plain dress, the girl could have been anyone, but something about her struck a chord in his memory.

"Your grace?" Illyrio inquired; following Viserys' line of sight, "Pay her no mind, no doubt just another girl off the street looking for money."

Viserys ignored the Magister, and focused on the girl. In spite of her garments, she stood with an almost regal bearing, something noticeable at this distance. That in itself was odd, and Viserys began to make his way closer. The girl watched him come, and seemed almost frozen to the spot as he stepped closer and closer to her. The most distance he closed, the more familiar the image became in his head. And suddenly, it clicked.

"Elia..."

It couldn't be. The girl certainly resembled the woman he remembered as being his brothers frail, Dornish, wife. But she was certainly stronger looking than Elia Martell had been, and there was a strangely determined cast to her eye. Before he could get close enough to firmly place her face in his mind, the girl suddenly turned away and darted off down the street.

"Seven Hells!" he swore.

Before Illyrio could catch up to him and inquire, Viserys was running after the girl. He was _sure_ he knew her face, and he wasn't going to waste time letting her get away.

"Stop!" he yelled.

She didn't obey him, if anything her speed increased, and she jerked a head-scarf up to cover her flying hair. People cursed as the pair of them crashed through the streets, but he didn't pause to pay them any more mind than she did, the peasants should have gotten out of his way anyway. He saw her flit light lightning down a side ally, and followed suit, glad to see that it led to nowhere. There was no point in running anymore, he stopped, and drew himself up regally.

"Stop!" Viserys yelled; command resonating in his voice.

The girl paused, breathing hard from the fast running, but she didn't face him.

"Show me your face," he ordered.

Slowly, as if moving in a stiff dream, she turned, and lowered the scarf covering her face. He gasped. It wasn't possible, he'd thought her dead, murdered by the lions with the rest of his kin. That face...it had belonged to a child when he had last seen it, but now that he was close he could link this young woman to the girl.

His voice, when it came, was almost a broken whisper, "Rhaenys?"


	2. Let In

**Oh wow, thanks for reviewing: Guest, Apolli, Failed to De-anon, Oberon Sexton, Bess Woodville  
A/N: Ahha...whoops, realised that I was using Braavos instead of Pentos throughout chapter 1, I went back and corrected it, sorry! **

Chapter 2: Let In

"Hello, Uncle," she greeted calmly, "It's been a long time."

She may be managing that cool level of exterior calm, but inside she was an utter mess. This had not been a part of the plan! She hadn't known that the lingering threads of her family would be here. She knew that Viserys and Danearys had escaped of course, everyone knew that they had, but she hadn't been following their whereabouts since she heard of Viserys' coronation as the Beggar King. What was he doing in _Pentos?_ Staying in a manse?

He looked like he was still having trouble comprehending that it was her. His violet eyes kept on flitting over her face and body. He'd open his mouth to speak, then shut it again as he thought more. Backed into a literal corner as she was, Rhaenys hoped that perhaps he was in shock enough for her to pass him.

"Well, it's been pleasant," she lied; moving forwards to brush past him, and make her way out into freedom.

"Wait."

He caught her arm in an iron grip that surprised her, and shocked her to, she was a _princess_, no one grabbed her like that! Well...Aegon might, but he was her brother, which made him a completely different category of people. Height may have been one of the features which she had inherited from both sides of her family, but hers didn't nearly make up for his, and she had to stare a good few inches to look in his eyes. There was anger there. That was sudden, he'd been merely confused a moment before.

'_When a Targaryen is born, the commoners flip a coin to see if it will be great or mad.'_

Rhaenys desperately scrapped her thin memories of childhood in the palace, what had he been like? As a boy, had he shown any sign? She could just be overreacting of course, all Targaryens possessed a quick anger. Perhaps not all, but certainly many of them did. Rhaenys had often envied her father's apparently constant calm, that was certainly one thing that had skipped both her and her brother. An angry Targaryen was one thing, but a mad one?

Viserys had still said nothing after 'wait', he was still just looking down at her, now with mistrust tingeing his confusion.

"What?" she demanded; matching his light stare with her dark one.

"How?" he asked; putting more than one question into that one word.

Rhaenys cast a worried glance around the alley, "Viserys, here is not the place for that kind of talk."

A dark cloud once more stormed over his face, but then he only smirked, "As you wish."

If she'd held the hope that he was going to release her, she was wrong. He kept his tight grip on her arm, and proceeded to all but drag her in his wake as he walked back towards the manse they had fled. This was not a part of the plan. She'd completed what she'd needed to do in Pentos, she should be on a ship that was sailing back to her brother by nightfall!

"Stop," she commanded, "Let me go."

Viserys paid her no mind at all, just continued tugging her along. Rhaenys didn't want to cause a commotion in the streets, word travelled quick enough as it was, she hoped that no one here knew enough to say that they had seen Viserys Targaryen with an Elia Martell lookalike. Anger simmered away inside of her as she quickened her stride so as to match his, and not be dragged in his wake. She pretended that she could ignore his hand on her arm, and walked with her head held high, as if this were entirely of her own accord.

That all changed the moment they stepped inside the manse. Rhaenys pulled herself away from her uncle sharply, and delivered an echoing slap to his cheek.

"What in all the hells do you think you're playing at? Dragging me through the streets like that? Are you mad?"

Several gasps could be heard from slaves in the area, and a well dressed, massively fat man who stood on the steps looked shocked. She guessed that Viserys' temper had been felt by many around here, but she didn't back down from her challenging stare. If he wanted to get angry, _fine_. She could be just as furious. She'd match him fire for fire.

Looking in his eyes, she saw that she would have to. If she'd wondered at his anger before, here it was certain. A red mark was already showing against his pale face.

"You little bitch!" he exclaimed, "You _dare_ strike me? I am Viserys, third of his name, and the rightful king of Westeros! You _will_ show me respect."

Rhaenys hadn't meant to, she really hadn't, but his entire manner and speech belonged to a petulant child. Perhaps she should have contained it to a light scoff, but her laughter ended up growing until she was near doubled over with it. It was the only sound to be heard all throughout the courtyard, save for the soft screech of metal on metal as the gates swung shut. If the others present had seemed shocked before, they were aghast now.

"You are not the first in line," she managed to get out, when her laughter died down and she could once more look him in the eye.

"What? Of course I am! I am the son of the last king, that makes me-"

"There is someone before you in line," she cut him off.

His eyes narrowed to purple slits, "I beg your pardon?"

"A-" Rhaenys stopped herself quickly.

_Fool_, she snapped mentally. She's nearly mentioned Aegon, but she had the feeling that telling her uncle that Aegon was alive would not be a good idea for her brother. Someday, perhaps. But if Viserys truly believed himself heir, then mentioning Aegon would perhaps cause danger for him. Not to mention the fact that she didn't know who might be listening. Bad enough that she was being so openly seen, but better her than her little brother.

She raised her chin haughtily, "I am."

"You?" he sneered; contempt clear in his tone, "Don't make me laugh."

"I am the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen, that puts me ahead of you in the line of succession," she pointed out.

"A girl?" he scoffed, "You can't rule, I am your elder, the throne will pass to me first."

"Ahh," she smiled, "You forget my mother, Elia of Dorne. The women of my line have always been able to take the power should they be eldest. I would not have claimed that right over my brother, had he lived, but I claim it over you. I am heir to Westeros, not you."

Viserys was looking right down at her with an utterly shocked expression on his face. Rhaenys realised then that she had marched right up in front of him and had a finger poking his chest. But she wasn't going to back down from the proximity, it would look like she was backing down from her position.

Right in front of her eyes, Viserys' own became clouded over with rage, and even though she hoped she didn't show it, Rhaenys felt a tremor of fear. No man had ever stuck her, the only men she was ever around much knew her position and wouldn't dare, and she'd managed to stay low enough in the streets to avoid it. She cursed the fact that she had left her dagger at her lodgings. Aegon had given it to her, and taught her how to use it, for this very purpose.

"Your grace, please, introduce me to your guest."

Rhaenys couldn't look over Viserys' shoulder, so she peered around her uncle. The well-dressed man who had previously been nearer the house was now right behind Viserys, a smile on his face, but a wary glint in his eye.

Viserys didn't calm down a whit, and Rhaenys wasn't sure if he would hold back on using force, even in front of someone else. She was past the point where she couldn't reveal herself, anyone in that courtyard could belong to Varys, and this could be a good way to gain allies for Aegon.

"My name is Rhaenys Targaryen," she said; stepping fully around Viserys, "My mother was Elia Martel, of Drone, younger sister to the Prince of Sunspear, Doran Martel. My father, was Rhaegar Targaryen, son of King Aerys Targaryen, and heir to the Iron Throne."

The man looked startled, but only for a moment, before he collected himself. Bowing over her hand, he raised it to his lips, "My lady, I am Illyrio Mopatis, a Magister here in Pentos, and it would be my honour if you would deign to rest yourself at my manse while you remain here."

"What do you think you're doing?" Viserys demanded.

"Your grace, surely with your bloodline so thin now, another-"

"She may not even be a Targaryen," Viserys gave her a once-over glance, "She doesn't have the colouring, and I'm sure any number of girls have tried to pass themselves off as 'Rhaenys Targaryen'. Dishonouring a little girl who now lies dead."

Oh, he wanted her gone. He wanted her gone, and then he'd want to track her down and kill her. A threat to his claim to the throne. She almost laughed again. If he did anything of the kind, Aegon would put his head on a spike, family or no. But then again, she wasn't sure Viserys would really do that. Whatever her uncle was, he was one of four remaining Targaryens –three in his mind- and she didn't think he'd really kill off his own blood.

"When you saw me, you chased me down, and named me 'Elia'," she said coolly, "Perhaps the exertion confused you, uncle."

"Or perhaps I was mistaken," he snapped back.

Rhaenys had a trump card which would prove her lineage without a doubt, but she didn't feel like playing it yet. No more than she felt like informing these people about her living brother, she was happy that neither man had mentioned it thus far. She may have been only three when she left the Red Keep, but she still had some memories of her time there, tattered as they were.

"A few months before the rebellion began, you and I were playing in the Keep," she said; maintaining eye contact with Viserys, "We found a little black kitten, and I called him Balerion, after the dragon."

"Many people know that Rhaenys had a kitten," he retorted, "That proves nothing."

"The next day," she continued, "We were playing, and you tripped over Balerion. Fell head-over-heels over the ground. You chased me all through the Godswood for laughing at you, and made me swear not to tell a soul."

With the eye contact they had, she could see that Viserys knew she spoke the truth, and his silence spoke of it to the world. A smug smile tweaked the corners of her lips, and she turned her gaze to Illyrio, who had been watching the conversation with quiet observation.

"Magister, I think that my uncle and I have much left to discuss, and I'm sure you too have your questions. If we could perhaps move to a more private location?"

"But of course, and perhaps you might like to change into more comfortable garments?" he suggested, "I'm sure Daenerys could lend you something, until we get you some clothes for yourself."

"Ahh, so Daenerys _is_ here too, could you have someone send for her?" she inquired.

She took Illyrio's arm as they began to walk, leaving her uncle to either remain or follow behind as he wished. He caught up however, and walked on her other side. She didn't hear Illyrio's reply to her question, as Viserys leant close to her to whisper.

"How did you get out?"

"I'll tell you inside," she replied in a matching whisper.

A smile had been curving her lips as she tilted her head to look up at him, but it died when she saw his expression. No longer was he looking angry, although remnants of a sulk still lingered. There was something calculating in his gaze as he returned her stare, and it unnerved her. It was like he was planning something, and Rhaenys had the feeling that she was not going to like it.


End file.
